


Jim Moriarty Sends His Love

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Superwholock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty is dead. He shot himself in the head. So why do Sherlock and John keep seeing him everywhere?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a thing. Post-Reichenbach for Sherlock, around Season 6 for Supernatural, and somewhere after The Angels Take Manhattan for Doctor Who.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything Sherlock or Supernatural.

„We've been through this, John," snorted Sherlock, leaning back in his armchair and putting his hands under his chin, like he always did when he was thinking. "It is not possible for people to have eyes like this. It is not possible for people to dodge a bullet—"

"Sherlock—"

"And it is definitely not possible for people to come back from the dead after they've shot themselves in the head!"

"I know…" sighed John, looking worryingly at his best friend. "But Moriarty was there, Sherlock. You saw him… We have to do something about that."

"It was some sort of a drug, obviously. Or sleep deprivation. But it was not Moriarty, John. Moriarty is dead."

"Everyone thought you were dead, too, but you came back. And you still didn't tell me how."

"It's different! And I can't tell you. Not yet, you wouldn't understand."

John just shook his head and went to the kitchen to make tea. It's been four months since Sherlock's return and the only thing he would say about the way he managed to survive the jump was that he had help and that they wouldn't understand if he told them. There was no point in arguing with him, especially when he was like that. And it was going to get worse, because John was about to tell him what exactly they were going to do about Moriarty.

"We're almost out of milk," he said, handing Sherlock the cup and sitting down in front of him.

When the detective only murmured something that sounded like " _We're always out of milk, do you bathe in it?_ " under his breath, the doctor decided to break the news to Sherlock.

"I've called some old friends. When I was in the army… there was talk about things like that. You know, weird. Well, for want of a better word… Anyway, one of them said he knows someone who could help—"

"Help with what, John? Hallucinations? I hardly think you have to call your army friends to help with that!"

"And what if it's not hallucinations?!" the shorter man wanted to shake his friend in hope that maybe it would make him see some reason "What if there is something you—we've missed?! I don't want you to die again, Sherlock, this time for good!"

Sherlock looked surprised at John's outburst. For a few weeks after the detective's return (and this time, John did not avoid Sherlock's nose when he punched him) everyone kept asking how he did it and he refused to tell them, so after a while the questions stopped. It never occurred to Sherlock that maybe, even though he was fine, his friends might still be worried. He didn't say anything, but gestured for John to continue talking.

"If it's nothing, if it really is just a recurring hallucination, fine, we'll come back home and get on with normal… well, with our life," the doctor went on "But we have to make sure. I'll call this man and make arrangements, okay?"

"Yes, yes, fine…" grumbled Sherlock, deciding that he could do this one thing to calm John down. "Wait, come back home? Where are we going?"

"We're going to America, Sherlock."

A few hours later, after Sherlock left the apartment claiming that he had things to do before they leave, John picked a number he got from his friend. No one answered, but before he could cancel the call he heard " _Leave your name, number and nightmare at the tone._ "

 

***

On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, two men were packing their duffel bags into the trunk of a black car parked in front of an uncharacteristic motel somewhere in Illinois. One of them went to make sure that they didn't leave anything in their room and the other dug his phone out of his jeans pocket and turned it on. He was a bit surprised to find a message on his voicemail. Not many people had this number.

He gestured for the other man to get in the car and put the message on speaker.

" _Umm, hello, this is John Watson_ " they heard a voice with an English accent " _I have your number from a friend, Tyler Plank. He said you helped people with… unusual problems. This is going to sound really idiotic, but, umm… there's a man, with black eyes, I mean, with no whites or anything, who's following me and my friend. And the thing is… he's supposed to be dead. We'd really appreciate your help. My number is…_ "

"What do you think?" asked the taller man, turning to his brother.

"Looks like the guy has a demon on his ass. We should call him back and get some more info," answered the other man, starting the car and driving out of the parking lot.

"Then why aren't you doing it?"

"I'm just wondering, Sammy. When has anything good come out of us talking with English people?"

"Just give me the phone, Dean," sighed Sam with a practically audible eye roll and dialed Watson's number.

"Hi, this is Sam Winchester… You called my brother, Dean, earlier today?"

"Put it on speaker."

" _Hello, yes. I hope it didn't sound too..._ "

"No, we're used to weird," said Sam in his comforting-people voice. "But we could use some more information. How long has this been happening?"

" _About four weeks,_ " answered John with a barely distinguishable sigh of relief. " _We keep seeing him all over London—_ "

"Wait, London?" interrupted Dean. "Sorry to break this to you, but we're not an international company."

"Just ignore my brother, mister Watson," Sam shot his brother a warning look. "You said the man following you was dead?"

" _Yes, he shot himself four months ago. Shot himself in the head, there's no way he could have survived. And we obviously don't expect you to travel to London. If you'd be willing to help, we'll come to America._ "

Sam turned off the speaker. He preferred to avoid Dean's involvement in explaining to Watson what exactly was after him and his friend and making arrangements. The younger Winchester was surprised at how well John handled the news that there was a demon out there who specifically wanted to kill them.

Usually people thought that he and his brother were either some religious extremists of insane serial killers. Or both. Sam had to admit that Watson's relatively calm reaction was a welcome change, but it also made him wonder what did the man experience that being hunted by a demon didn't frighten him all that much.

Sam and John agreed to meet in three days in a motel near the Detroit international airport. The Winchesters were heading that way for a simple salt-and-burn not far from the city and decided to hang around a while longer to wait for Watson and the man he kept describing only as "his friend".


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still pretty short, next ones should be longer.
> 
> Disclaimer: I still do not own anything Sherlock or Supernatural.

After the initial argument about contacting the Winchesters, Sherlock was surprisingly quiet and cooperative. That is, until the doctor repeated what Sam told him about Moriarty. This got him not only a surprised look and a usual "don't be ridiculous, John!", but also another fight, by the end of which Sherlock refused to leave the kitchen, claiming that he was not going to stop his experiments for some stupid ghost-chasing. Watson had to threaten to tie him up and drag him to the airport, kicking and screaming if the need be, behind a cab to get him to pack his suitcase.

"It's good that you're going," said Mrs. Hudson when she made sure that it was safe to come upstairs. "You boys deserve a nice holiday."

John wondered about that. He was sure that their trip to America was going to be anything but a holiday, but he didn't say anything. His lack of fear seemed to surprise the man who told him about the demon-Moriarty (and John was still struggling to really believe that, despite what the told Sherlock), but he really wasn't afraid. They were going to go to the States and get rid of this thing, because that's what he and Sherlock always did. They were always alright, they won against improbable – impossible – odds and John kept telling himself that this time wasn't going to be any different.

They didn't talk much on their way from the airport to the motel. Both were lost in thoughts, Sherlock still sulking a bit and refusing to believe anything John told him about this whole demon business. John was wondering about the Winchesters, hoping that they really would be able to help.

After they left their luggage in their room, John led the way through the motel to find the room number 221 (Sherlock snorted at that, asking John if he thought it was destiny, in the most sarcastic tone he could possibly manage) where Sam and Dean Winchester were supposed to be waiting for them.

John looked at Sherlock, as if asking if he was ready, and knocked on the door.

It opened and a man slightly taller than Sherlock appeared before them, keeping one hand hidden behind the door.

"There's no need to point a gun at us," said Sherlock before anyone else even open their mouth. "We are not armed. Can't carry a weapon on a plane."

John gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Hello, Mr. Winchester? My name is John Watson, this is my friend, Sherlock Holmes."

"Call me Dean," the man looked both ways before letting them in. He was indeed holding a gun in his hand. "This is my brother, Sam."

Dean watched carefully, gun still in hand, as Sam stood up and shook John's and Sherlock's hands.

"Sherlock Holmes?" asked Sam, looking from John to Sherlock with surprise written all over his face. "THE Sherlock Holmes? The detective? So you must be doctor Watson! It's great to meet you both."

"Oh, you read my blog?" smiled John, giving Sherlock an I-told-you-so look, very similar to the one he gave him a long time before in the Buckingham Palace.

"Now that we are all done fussing, can we get to business?" Holmes interrupted his friend's gloating. "We didn't come here to find out that John's blog apparently has an international audience."

"Hold on, one more thing," Dean put his gun down and passed a hip-flask to John. "Drink this."

"You carry holy water, clever," stated Sherlock.

"How do you—"

"Oh, God…" muttered John, covering his eyes with his hand.

"You two claim to fight demons and judging by the fact that you opened the door with a gun in hand and you both have knives hidden in your boots and behind your belts, you really do fight something. You are distrustful, your gun is still within fast reach and your brother," Sherlock gestured to Sam with his head, "despite his enthusiasm, is standing in a way that would quickly allow him to get behind me and John. So you are not sure what we're going to do and, apparently, what we are. Since you want to check and the fastest way to recognize a demonic presence seems to be holy water… Obvious," he finished, taking a sip from the flask handed to him by John and looking very pleased with himself when he saw he surprised the Winchesters.

"Right," announced Dean grumpily. "To business, then. Tell us the whole story."

Moriarty appeared for the first time about three months after Sherlock's miraculous return. The detective and his friend were going back home after solving another case, both extremely tired after five days of running around with almost no sleep at all, when they saw a man smiling at them, waving happily from behind a corner. They didn't really pay much attention to him at first, thinking it was just some random man, one of many people who'd heard of Sherlock Holmes.

They noticed him again, a few days later, in the middle of another case, just standing there and watching. It was when they realized that it was James Moriarty with his mad eyes and his impeccable Westwood suit. Jim stuck his tongue out at them when he saw they were watching and disappeared in the crowd, like he was never even there in the first place.

Then the IOUs started to appear around them. A graffiti on the building in front of their apartment, three letters wiped in the dust on a cab they took to the Scotland Yard, smeared with paint near the crime scenes, on leaflets from shops they found in their mailbox. When John pointed it out to Sherlock, the detective insisted that it was just some ridiculous joke and then refused to discuss it further, drowning Watson's words with the sound of his violin. When the lights in the apartment started flickering and signaling IOU in Morse code, John began to think that maybe it really was just paranoia and tried to ignore the cropping up letters and the figure in a suit he sometimes saw out of the corner of his eye.

That was, until they met him again, after they finished one more case. He stood in front of them in a dark alley, hands in his pockets, looking as alive as he was the night they saw him for the first time in the swimming pool. "Hiiii…" he said with a scary smile and suddenly his eyes turned all black, as if he used oil as eye-drops. "Did you enjoy my messages? It was fun, leaving them for you." Sherlock didn't answer, he just emptied the gun into Moriarty's face. But none of the bullets reached him, because he just vanished into thin air. This final encounter made John remember some rumors he'd heard in the army and he decided it was time to find someone who could help them, regardless of Sherlock's objections.

When John finished his story, Sam and Dean exchanged looks, finally sure that this wasn't a trick.

"Well, this should be pretty easy. We summon the son of a bitch, exorcise him and you'll be back home before the end of the week, happy together and undisturbed," offered Dean, glad that the thing would be simple, for once.

"Why do people keep—" an exasperated sigh came from John. "We're not a couple."

"You don't look convinced," said Sherlock at the same time, looking at Sam. "Is there something else we should know?"

"No, it's just…" Sam hesitated for a moment before answering. "It really should be simple, but things almost never are."

Sherlock laughed bitterly before answering. "True. One should always be prepared. I suppose you have more guns than just the ones on you. Both John and I are more than capable of handling a weapon, so we will be able to help you finish this as quickly as possible."

"Now hang on a second, we're not just gonna give you guns and hope you won't shoot us in the back while we summon a goddamn demon—" argued Dean

"The fact that your father was not a trustworthy man does not mean—"

"You don't know shit about our father!" yelled Dean, standing up. "So keep your deductions to yourself or I'll shove them up your ass!"

There was a mutual cry of "Dean!" and "Sherlock!" from Sam and John and by the time Dean finished his sentence, all four men were on their feet, Sam holding his brother's shirt and John standing in front of Sherlock.

"I'm going out," snarled Dean, grabbing his leather jacket and heading towards the door. "You do whatever the hell you want with the doctor and Mr. Cheekbones here."

The eldest Winchester slammed the door behind him, leaving his brother and the Englishmen in an uncomfortable silence. John was clearly torn between the urge to yell at Sherlock and the need to apologize to Sam.

"I'm really sorry," the latter won. "He just doesn't know when to shut up."

"I don't see why—" Sherlock started to talk but John interrupted him.

"Of course you don't. I swear, it's like you were twelve sometimes."

"It's… fine," Sam chuckled when he saw Sherlock's offended look. "But let's just call it a day. You should probably get some rest before the jet lag kicks in and Dean could use some time to cool off."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ritual comes from 'Weekend at Bobby's'.  
> Disclaimer: Sherlock and Supernatural are not mine, I just play with them.

The following morning saw the four men in John and Sherlock's room, establishing a plan. Dean was leaning on the wall next to the door, with his arms crossed defensively on his chest. Sherlock, wary of John's warnings, didn't comment on his posture but concentrated on Sam's words instead, sipping his coffee and leaning over the picture of a devil's trap he was drawing.

The plan was quite simple. They were going to summon Moriarty in one of the many abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of the city, trap the demon and exorcise him. Dean finally decided that both John and Sherlock would be given shotguns loaded with rock salt rounds, just in case. This way they couldn't really do much damage to the brothers, but would be able to defend themselves if something went wrong (which, the Winchesters insisted, was incredibly unlikely).

John asked a couple of questions about the location of each participant, which earned him a respectful glance from the brothers. Dean was the one who was going to perform the summoning ritual and Sam would recite the exorcism.

"If you agreed to give us the weapons, shouldn't we also know the exorcism?" Sherlock put his empty mug on the table and cast a questioning glance at Sam.

"What, you're the expert now? Gonna tell us how to do our job?" Dean still didn't forgive Sherlock for his words about John Winchester.

"I have no desire to become a… hunter," Holmes decided to ignore the obvious taunt, "but the safest option is for all of us to know how to defend ourselves. As you said, _just in case._ "

"Fine. How's your Latin?"

"Excellent."

"Obviously," snorted Dean and gestured for Sam to proceed with the explanations.

Once both Sherlock and John memorized the exorcism and the plan was repeated again, the time finally came to move to the practice part. The hunters, the doctor and the detective got into the black Impala and made their way out of the city without any talking, Metallica being the only thing that broke the silence in the car.

Dean was the first one to speak, surprisingly for him with eyes still on the road.

"So, how did you do it, Sherlock?"

"Do what?"

"You know, come back from the dead."

John, who was dozing off in the back seat besides Sherlock suddenly stiffened and Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, expecting another fight between his older brother and the Englishman.

"I did not come back from the dead. It would require actually dying and I actively try to avoid that," Holmes answered without shifting his glance from the window.

"Still," Dean insisted, "it could be important. Moriarty might know something about it or maybe he did something-"

"If you're suggesting that he did something similar," Sherlock cut him off, "I can assure you that the kind of help I had was quite unique. There was no way for him to get it."

"Does that happen often?" John joined the conversation. "People coming back from the dead, I mean."

"Yeah, you'd be surprised. Although you need a powerful creature, like an angel, to, you know, resurrect you," explained Sam.

John just stared at him, dumbfounded, for a moment before answering.

"An angel. An actual angel? Wings and everything?"

"Yes. Well, no. Kind of. Umm… Angels are a bit like demons in this respect, actually. They need a human body to possess. The difference is that it has to be a… special kind of human, it's in the blood. And they have to have a permission to take vessels."

"And you've met them?" after seeing both brothers nod, Watson continued. "How are they?"

"For the most part, they're dicks," unexpectedly, Dean's answer drew a short laugh from Sherlock.

Dean pulled over in front of an empty warehouse before more questions could be asked. The building looked gloomy, either because of its huge shape dominating the empty landscape and the setting sun reflecting in those windows that still remained unbroken, or maybe just because of the grim mood that suddenly took over the four men getting out of the car.

While Sam and Dean were experienced hunters and have done this sort of thing before, summoning demons was still dangerous and definitely not their favorite part of the job. They've dealt with demons enough times to know that there almost never was anything predictable in the way they behaved and even a simple exorcism could go horribly wrong and get them all killed.

As for Sherlock and John, they were both curious and scared (although neither of them would ever admit the latter). They have learned about the existence of supernatural creatures not a week ago and now they were actually going to be a part of a summoning ritual. Part of Sherlock still believed that this was some kind of an elaborate hoax, but he had to admit that he had no idea who would do such a thing and why.

Dean opened the trunk of the Impala and took two pendants from a pouch suspended on the cover of the hidden compartment.

"Here, wear these," he said, handing them to John and Sherlock. "Charms. They'll keep you from being possessed."

"Is that a sniper rifle?" asked John, as he contemplated the arsenal in the trunk appreciatively.

"Yeah, well, gotta be prepared for everything," answered Dean, a hint of pride evident in his voice.

He handed everyone a shotgun and the men slowly approached the warehouse. They entered the building carefully, Dean in the front, then Sam, holding the duffel bag with the necessary equipment, Sherlock and John closing the small procession. The detective wondered for a moment about how easily his friend fell back into the military-like routine, guarding the back with the gun ready to fire, even though they had nothing to be afraid of yet.

After they checked if the place really was empty (Sherlock imagined the look of surprise on the faces of people who would be unfortunate enough to find themselves in the middle of the rite and had to repress a sudden urge to laugh), the hunters drew a demon's trap on the floor and set up the candles and the bow of herbs next to it.

"Here goes," announced Dean, pulling a folding knife out of his pocket. " _Et ad congregandum…_ " the man winced a little as he cut his hand to let his blood drop on the herbs. " _Eos coram me._ " He quickly wrapped a bandana around his palm, then lit a match and threw it into the bowl.

A figure in a suit appeared inside the pentagram almost instantly. James Moriarty turned to face the other men, eyeing the hunters curiously, until he noticed Holmes. He smiled then, his expression made even more disturbing not only by the black eyes he seemed to like very much, but also by the fact that he seemed genuinely happy.

"You just can't live without me, can you, Sherlock? I was beginning to worry you'd never call," his attention shifted to Watson for a second. "Hello, Johnny! You missed me?"

John didn't answer, he just gripped the shotgun tighter in his hands, waiting for Sam to start the exorcism. Before the younger hunter could do that, however, a question came from Sherlock.

"How did you do it?"

"Ah, it is quite a story… Can you imagine my surprise when it turned out that hell actually exists? You disappointed me, Sherlock, when you weren't there like you promised," he came to the very edge of the trap, his insane gaze never leaving the detective's face. "But I was a very keen student, so they gave me a chance to see you again. How could I resist?"

"I thought you didn't like getting your hands dirty."

"One must adapt, wouldn't you say? You did, adding those hunters to your little pet collection."

"Okay, that's enough catching up," Dean looked at Moriarty, disgusted. "Hit him, Sammy."

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas—_ " started Sam, but Jim's laughter interrupted him.

"Not bad, not bad… But you see, I am a genius," the demon raised his hand, showing them a mark on his wrist. It looked a bit like a Q burned out in the skin. He started saying something quietly under his breath.

"Son of a bitch!"

Dean rushed towards the pentagram, throwing the shotgun to the floor and pulling a knife with an inscribed blade from behind his belt. At the same time the floor around the trap cracked and Moriarty stepped out of it, spreading his arms as if he wanted to hug the hunter and all four men flew across the empty room, dropping their weapons. He shifted his attention to Sam and the youngest man slammed into a wall.

"Now, why would you want to stop the fun so soon? Come on, don't be such a spoilsport, Sammy," the demon walked slowly, hands in his pockets. "We've only just met!"

Sam didn't answer, struggling pointlessly to regain control of his body. Behind Jim, Dean scrambled to his feet and picked up his knife from the floor, but before he could take a step, Moriarty spun on his heel and the older Winchester flew to the opposite side of the room, breaking a window with his arm, and fell to the floor with a groan.

Suddenly two shots rang, as both Sherlock and John reached their weapons. Another one came from Sam a second later and Moriarty bent in half, grunting with pain as the salt rounds hit him. Before any of the men could reload their guns, he was gone.

"Dean!" Sam rushed to his brother's side. "Dean, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'll live," sighed Dean heavily, standing up. He pulled out a large piece of glass that was sticking out of his arm and grimace with pain. Sam took a bandana from his pocket and wrapped it around the bleeding wound.

"Looks like it's going to need stitches," offered John coming closer, "but I'll check when we get back to the motel."

"Thanks, doc. We should get the hell out of here before the freak decides to come back."

It turned out that Dean did need stitches, so Sam brought all the necessary equipment from the car, while John started to extract smaller bits of glass from Dean's arm.

"I'm going to need something to clear the wound," stated Watson, bringing a bedside lamp close to check if he removed everything. "Why didn't the exorcism work, anyway?"

"The mark he had on his arm?" Sam started to explain, passing John a bottle of whisky from a bag. The doctor frowned at it, but when Sam's only answer was to shrug he decided not to argue and work with what he had. "That was a binding symbol. Makes it impossible to get a demon out of a meatsuit. That's why Dean tried to stab him."

"And it didn't occur to you to mention having a knife that can actually kill a demon a bit earlier?" grumbled Sherlock, looking at the brothers with just a hint of distaste.

"Yeah, a fat lot of good it did to us. Worked like a miracle, don't you think?" mocked Dean, snatched the bottle from John's hand and took a large gulp, "Next time we'll just ask him to stand still."

"I thought it was for disinfecting?" John took the whisky back and started pouring some on the gash, when Sam's phone rang and the younger hunter went out to answer it, leaving the doctor alone with Dean and Sherlock.

"I am disinfecting. From the inside."

"Maybe if you had told us before we could have worked out a better plan," Sherlock was not going to let that one slide.

"Oh, right. I forgot, you're a genius who can work everything out."

"One of your many mistakes—"

"Okay, shut up!" John finally lost his patience with the bickering men. "Both of you, you're like squabbling children. Sherlock, stop provoking Dean. Dean, don't encourage him. And stop moving your arm, I'm trying to work."

Sam entered the room as both men fell silent and stared at John. Surprise and amusement fought of the hunter's face and Sherlock looked a bit offended, but he chuckled quietly when he saw Dean's expression.

"What happened here?"

"Mother Watson just told us to shut up or so help him," answered his brother. "Who called?"

"You have to teach me how to do that," Sam laughed when John rolled his eyes at Dean. "Bobby's got a case for us in Texas."

"Really? Didn't you tell him that we're a bit busy at the moment?"

"Yeah, well, apparently it's important."

"A case?" those sure were the words to spike Sherlock's interest. Especially when they meant that he could learn something new and despite his initial lack of belief in demons, the world of the supernatural was too intriguing to pass on such an opportunity. "How can we help?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Supernatural, Sherlock or Doctor Who. I wish I did, but I don't.

The first victim, Andrew Harding, a literature professor in his thirties was found dead in his office at a local college. He didn’t show up at a soccer game, so his friends came to get him, thinking he got too caught up in his work and forgot about the meeting. Instead they found him, head on his desk, in a pool of blood. As it turned out, his esophagus was melted, but there were no signs of poison or no other damage.  
The second one, Liz Irvin, died in her car while she was parking it in front of her house. Her tongue has swollen and she suffocated to death. Again, there was nothing in her body that would help to establish why she died. She was not poisoned, had no allergies and lead a disgustingly healthy life.  
The latest victim was Felicia Beck, who died the weirdest death. Her roommate, Carrie Fowler, found her on a couch after a party. At first, she thought Felicia just passed out from drinking too much, so she just threw a blanket at her sleeping friend and went to bed, without thinking about it anymore. The next morning the police answered a call from a panicked Carrie. Felicia had died from multiple stab wounds to her heart and lungs. The weird thing, however, was that all those wounds came from the inside. Her organs were full of holes, but there were no injuries whatsoever on her body.  
All those killings happened within three weeks, the last one when John, Sherlock and the Winchesters were still a day’s drive from their destination. Normally, Sam and Dean would just switch in the driver’s seat and not stop until they got to Odessa, but since they had company, and Sherlock would absolutely refuse to wait for them in a motel, claiming that he does not work from a distance, a little detour was necessary to get some fake IDs for the Englishmen.  
“Is it really the best idea?” questioned Sam with a frown. “I mean, British Feds?”  
“Oh, don’t worry, I can talk with an American accent just fine.”  
“Only fine?” teased Dean, glancing at Sherlock’s reflection in the rearview mirror, but he shut up when he saw the death glares Sam and John gave him. He rolled his eyes. “Jeez, can’t a man joke anymore?”  
They waited for Dean to do his magic at a nearby diner, grabbing an early lunch. When he got back, Sam noticed his brother’s smug smile and snatched the IDs from his hand.  
“Come on, Sammy, what’s with the bitchface?” Dean asked before starting the biggest burger he could get his hands on.  
“Peter Falk?” Sam waved the card with Sherlock’s picture on it. “Leonard McCoy? _Leonard McCoy?_ That’s even worse than your usual mullet rock shout outs.”  
Dean just shrugged, his mouth full. John seemed to be genuinely enjoying his fake identity and Sherlock was, as usual, oblivious to the pop culture references.  
“What is wrong with those names? They seem fine to me.”  
“I swear,” the older hunter look at the detective with a mixture of disbelief and amusement, “if another weirdo in a coat shows up, I’m gonna start shooting. All the good stuff is just wasted on you.”

They reached Odessa the next morning, ready for work. Sam and Dean went to get the victims’ files from the police so they could work out if there was anything they had in common. That’s when they found out about the latest death.  
The four men sat in Sherlock and John’s room, looking through the files. The only connection so far was that Felicia was one of Harding’s students, but they had no idea if it was important.  
“We should take a look at the body,” Dean shut the file and rubbed his eyes. He stood up and gestured for John to follow him. “Looks like we’re not gonna find anything in here. You two geek boys see if there’s something else, a club or whatever.”

Exactly like the report stated, there were multiple stab wounds to the woman’s heart and lungs, but the rest of her body seemed completely intact. Dean and John traded a few stories with the unusually talkative coroner in case they had to come back to see another body, which, whit the way things appeared to be going, seemed inevitable and decided to visit the victim’s apartment.  
“I still didn’t get the chance to clean up properly. You know, after the police…” the roommate explained, leading them to the kitchen. “But I don’t understand, I already told them everything.”  
“We have to conduct a separate investigation. You mind if I take a look around?” Dean was already scanning the room for the signs of anything supernatural, so when the girl nodded the went to check Felicia’s room, leaving John to ask the questions. He started with the most obvious one.  
“So… Did Miss Beck have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt her?”  
“No, of course not. She was great, did a lot of voluntary work…” the girl started sobbing, so John made a comforting sound and passed her a box of tissues from the counter. “Everybody liked her and she was even going to get enga—“  
She stopped talking suddenly, as if she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about it. John had to stop himself from pointing out that since Felicia was already dead, this wouldn’t exactly be breaking a promise. Then he thought that he was definitely spending too much time with Sherlock.  
“Engaged?” he asked instead, as Dean came back to the kitchen. “Listen, umm… Carrie, this might be important. You have to tell us everything you know.”  
“There was this science professor, Brennan… Mr. Harding introduced them… He was going to get a divorce and they wanted to move out…” she burst into tears again.  
“Harding? Andrew Harding, the dead one?” Dean’s question just made her cry harder, but she nodded, grabbing another tissue.  
“Right, umm… Thank you for your time, Miss Fowler,” the hunter took a step towards the door, the crying girl making him visually uncomfortable. “I think we have everything we need.”  
“That was smooth,” commented John as got into the car. “Very tactful.”  
“At least we know what we’re dealing with,” Dean threw a small canvas bag into the doctor’s lap. “That’s a hexbag. It means we’ve got a vengeful witch on the loose. Fuck, I hate witches.”

Sam and Sherlock put their research skills to good use, too. After unsuccessfully browsing the files, they manned their laptops (or, in Sherlock’s case, John’s laptop. The doctor gave up the attempts to protect it with a password, knowing that his friend would break it anyway) and found a connection between the victims. All three of them were involved in a charity fundraiser for some near-extinct species. It wasn’t much, but until Dean and John returned with some more information it was at least something to start with.  
When everyone was back in place a minor battle was fought over who was going to go interview Brennan’s wife and check Liz’s apartment and talk to her sister. Dean insisted that he had enough crying women for one day and refused to take any part in searching of the apartment. Sherlock claimed that the wife was the most likely suspect and therefore he should be the one to interrogate her, given that he was, after all, a detective and easily the most intelligent man in the company. Sam and John agreed about the fact that letting Dean and Sherlock together anywhere near a woman that was recently cheated on and was probably a witch was begging for trouble.  
After nearly forty minutes of yelling, insults, sulking, deductions and very inventive threats ranging from a relatively harmless cutting the coffee and nicotine patches supply short to major injuries and even finding a wendigo, the decision was reached.  
As there was no way in which everyone could be satisfied, they settled on an agreement that made everyone equally miserable, although none of them said that out loud. John and Sam were to go talk to the sister, while Sherlock and Dean were going to interview the wife.

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Brennan was very surprised about the questions they had for her. “What does any of it have to do with me?”  
“Well,” Dean hesitated for a second, but then he noticed a picture of Liz Irvin and the Brennans on the wall, “since you were a friend of one of the victims, we though you may have some relevant information.”  
“I don’t know anything, agent. Lizzie was an amazing woman and I really wish I could help, but—“  
“Is your husband away for long?” Sherlock suddenly interrupted her, still looking around the room. She appeared shocked, but composed herself very quickly.  
“What? Why would you say that? He’s at work,” seeing the detective’s disbelief, she got angry and started leading them back to the door. “I’m sorry, but I’m very busy. If there’s anything else you’d like to know, call me tomorrow.”  
“What the hell was that?” Dean hissed when she slammed the door behind them. “We were supposed to find out if she’s the witch, not piss her off!”  
“Oh, I found out everything there was to know. Didn’t you notice how angry she got when I asked about her husband?”  
“Yeah, how did you know about the husband, anyway? And what is this everything that you know?”  
“I don’t know, I notice,” the hunter looked like he was about to hit him, so he decided to elaborate. “There was laundry ready to be sorted on the sofa, but all the clothes were female. Also, there were traces of two sets of tires on the driveway, but not recent ones. Meaning there was only one car parking here for a while. No male clothing, only her car around the house? The husband probably moved out.”  
“You’re good,” Sherlock looked surprised by Dean’s compliment. “What else did you notice?”  
“That she is the witch we are looking for. There were traces of herbs under her fingernails and a piece of canvas on the coffee table, just large enough to make a bag just like the one you found in the victim’s apartment. And I wouldn’t expect her to use an inscribed knife for cooking.”  
“Dude,” the taller man stopped walking towards the car and stared at Sherlock with appreciation. “That was awesome! But since we don’t know where the husband is and she’s making another hexbag, we’re gonna have to go back there tonight.”

 

“She killed three people because her husband was cheating on her?” the younger Winchester looked disturbed when Dean and Sherlock told the other two what they found out. “Really?”  
“Hell hath no fury…” murmured the detective quietly.  
“How do you stop a witch anyway?” asked John  
“There’s a spell that makes all the power vanish from a witch. We have all we need with us, so that’s the easy part.” Sam explained, checking the items he packed in the duffel with their father’s journal.  
“Yeah, the hard part is that we have to do it at her house,” Dean added, cleaning his gun. “So we’re gonna need you two to man the doors, don’t let her get out of the house and we’ll be out of here in no time.”  
“I don’t want to be the dark prophet here,” Watson hesitated, “but the last time something was supposed to be that easy, well…”  
“The last time it was a genius-psychopath demon, not some chick who probably got a spell from the Internet and decided to try it out. Relax, doc, it’s gonna be fine.”

There is a reason why, when a character in a book or a movie says something similar, horrible things happen. The universe has a tendency to prove wrong all the people who think it’s safe to ask questions like “what could possibly go wrong” or “what’s the worst that could happen”. And, since the Winchesters pissed off the universe on a regular basis, defying its most elemental principle of “stay dead when you die, for God’s sake”, later that night, they were going to find out exactly how wrong Dean was.  
At first it all went well. They parked the car a few blocks away and walked to the Brennans’ house, where Sam easily picked the lock of the front door. The brothers set up everything they needed for the spell without a word and nobody even dropped anything or tripped over any carpet or furniture, even though they were working in complete darkness, so that no neighbors would feel alarmed by the flashing lights.  
Nothing would go wrong if it wasn’t for one, tiny detail.  
Claire Brennan wasn’t just a woman who, desperately trying to keep her husband, found a couple of spells online and decided to try them out. Claire Brennan was, in fact, a very and powerful witch, who practiced magic for many years. She was responsible for her husband’s numerous promotions, as well as for the blooming business of her friend, Liz. That’s why, when she found out that Liz knew about her husband’s affair, she decided to punish the woman for not telling her. Just as she was about to punish the men in her house for trying to take her powers away.  
The whole plan would still have a chance of success when John, who was standing by the back door, unseen by the witch, put a bullet in her head. But, apart from being powerful, she was also clever.  
That’s why only a second after the shot the men heard police sirens coming close, blocking all the ways out of the house. Before she came downstairs to attack them, Claire called 911 and told the dispatcher there were armed men at her house and that she feared for her life. When she suddenly ended the call, officers were sent to check the situation. And they would indeed encounter four armed men and a dead body of Claire Brennan.  
“Fucking witches!” yelled Dean, looking out of a window and seeing they were surrounded by approaching cops.  
The situation seemed hopeless and the universe could finally sit back and enjoy the inevitable demise of the dreadful Winchesters.  
That’s when a weird, wheezing noise could be heard and when the surrounded men looked around, instead of the sofa, coffee table and windows and the rest of the items normally found in a house, they saw a room with a console in the middle, flickering lights on the walls and circular writing near the doorframe.  
The universe did not take into account the fact that there was a man who had a tendency to randomly appear in hopeless situations.  
Said man, wearing a bowtie and a bit too short trousers, turned from the console and looked at his unexpected guest, surprised.  
“Hello. How did you get in here?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I still don't own Supernatural, Sherlock or Doctor Who.

The shocked silence did not last long. John, Sam and Dean immediately pointed their weapons at the newcomer, the man in a bowtie and Sherlock shouted “Put the guns down!” in unison, and the police sirens could still be heard, coming closer.  
“No guns on my ship!” repeated the stranger, noticing the sound from the outside and pulling some strange looking levers on the console.

There was more circular writing above it, on some sort of moving panels, and when the men looked around, they saw stairs by the sides of the room. The ship jerked suddenly, and they all had to grab the rails surrounding the lowest level to avoid falling down.

“Now,” the owner of the alleged ship turned to them again, “Who are you? How did you get in the TARDIS?”  
“The what?”   
“TARDIS. It’s a spaceship,” surprisingly for everyone, it was Sherlock who answered the question.  
“Have we met?” inquired the man in a bowtie, looking at the detective curiously.  
“Yes. That is, I’ve met you. In your future, I think.”  
“Oh,” this answer, however weird for the others, seemed to make sense to the stranger. “We’re not married in the future, are we?” he added suspiciously after a moment.  
“No, of course not. You—“  
“Would anyone be so kind and explain to us what the hell is going on?!” John interrupted the conversation between the two men, voicing the thoughts of the others.  
“Right, yes,” replied the man with the crazy hair, “ I'm the Doctor.”  
“We’re gonna need a bit more than that,“ spoke Dean.  
“Doctor who?” requested Sam at the same time.  
“Just the Doctor,” the Doctor beamed at the younger Winchester, but decided to elaborate when he noticed that nobody besides Sherlock looked satisfied with the answer, “I’m a traveler. This is my spaceship.”  
“Your spaceship. Right,” muttered Dean, “So what, you're some sort of an alien?”  
“Well, you are aliens to me… But yes, I’m not from your planet, so you can say that.”  
“An alien,” it was Sam’s turn to repeat the stranger’s words, and when the man nodded, the hunter looked at him in disbelief and added, “There’s no such thing as aliens. I mean, the last time we thought we were dealing with aliens…”  
“They were fairies! You know what, I think I prefer the cops.” Dean, apparently having enough of this weird conversation, quickly walked towards the door and before anyone could stop him, opened it.  
And stopped suddenly, hand still on the handle, stunned by what he saw. Sam rushed to his brother’s side, thinking something happened, John close behind him. They both froze in shock.  
Instead of the living room they were in less than a minute ago, the door opened to a forest. Where the witch’s sofa was supposed to stand, there was a tall oak, surrounded by many other trees. Wherever they were, fall was starting, and some colorful leaves were already lying on the grass. A few were blown inside by a sudden breath of wind.  
Dean shut the door slowly, and the three men turned to face Sherlock and the Doctor, both watching them. The detective was focused on John, searching for any clues that would allow him to find out if his friend has figured anything out yet.  
The alien looked like a little kid, happy that he could finally show his amazing toy to someone, maybe even excited for a new adventure. For a moment, the older Winchester felt angry, but his brother squeezed his arm to calm him down. There was something else in the Doctor, too, something that the hunters knew all too well and that they recognized very quickly. The man in the crazy spaceship was scared. He wasn’t afraid of them, but of the fact that if he were to go with them, they would die. The brothers did not have many people left in the world and the number of people they could call friends, or even allies, shrunk every day. Sometimes it seemed that everyone who ever helped them died. And that was exactly what they saw in the strange man from another planet. That’s why Dean, unusually for him, just gritted his teeth and said nothing. It was Sam who broke the silence.  
“Talk. Both of you.”  
The Doctor wouldn't say much about himself, only that he was a traveler, but John and the hunters knew a lost cause when they saw one so they didn’t push it. But it was obvious from the look on the shorter Englishman’s face that he was not going to let his friend off the hook so easy.  
John Watson might not have been a genius like Sherlock but he certainly wasn't stupid and his time with the detective taught him to make deductions of his own. Sherlock not only knew the alien but also his ship and how it worked. Even for someone as brilliant as Holmes, it would take some time to learn to work something like that. And the only time Sherlock would be able to disappear for so long, Watson realized, would be…

The detective’s story confirmed his best friend’s silent speculations. The day Sherlock jumped from the roof of St. Bart’s, he didn’t land straight on the ground below. About halfway down the building, he landed in the TARDIS. The Doctor greeted him, happily, like an old friend, claiming that he came to help. Sherlock, the rational man that he was, at first blatantly refused to believe that he was rescued by a time-traveling alien, despite the evidence of his own eyes. It took a short trip back in time to convince him that he was not crazy or drugged, and it was all his mind needed to get to full speed again. That was also when the Doctor learned that it was extremely hard to say no to Sherlock Holmes when he really wanted something.  
First he went back in time again to talk to Molly and convince her to fake the autopsy results and put Moriarty’s body in his grave.   
“Should have burned the bones…” murmured Dean.  
Then, Sherlock organized his homeless network to keep John away from him after the fall for as long as they could. He prepared the fake blood in the TARDIS and used his rubber ball to stop the pulse in his in his right hand just in case John got through and checked it. Sherlock did consider telling John he was alive when he saw his friend at the cemetery a few days after the funeral, but finally decided against it. He spent the entire time he was gone disassembling Moriarty’s network and traveling with the Doctor, when the TARDIS had different ideas about their destination.

At this point of the detective’s story Dean had to hold John still to prevent him from punching Sherlock.  
“You…” yelled Watson, trying to get the hunter’s hands off him.  
“Okay, buddy, calm down…”  
“Calm down?! All this time I thought he was dead… And he was wandering through the universe! With an alien!” the Doctor made an offended face. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to…”  
“Yeah,” Dean cast a quick glance at his brother, who suddenly looked at the floor of the ship, ashamed, “Yeah, I do. Come on, doc, hitting him won’t make you feel any better.”  
“It’s a start…”  
“John—“ Sherlock made a step towards his friend, but the doctor just shook his head, freeing himself from Dean’s grasp, angry and hurt.  
“Don’t. Just… don't, or I will punch you.”  
“So…” Sam looked around the TARDIS, curiously, “This thing can really travel in time? Anywhere you want?”  
“Yes,” the Doctor nodded, but quickly added, “But you can’t change the past. Not if you want the universe to stay in one piece, anyway.”  
“Yeah, we know that,” it was Dean’s turn to look at the floor, his face suddenly sad, “Whatever you do, you end up with the same shit.”  
“If you believe in time travel,” Sherlock joined in, “why did you—“  
“Oh, that one’s fine,” explained Sam, “It’s the alien part we have a problem with.”  
“You traveled in time?” the Doctor looked at them with interest, “How?”  
“Angels.”  
“Weeping Angels? Then how did you come back? Or are you from the future?”  
“What the…” it was evident that Dean had no idea what the alien was talking about. He looked at his brother for support, but Sam was equally confused.  
“They weren't weeping…” the younger hunter said slowly, wondering how to answer the crazy questions, and shifted his eyes to Dean, who had more experience with time traveling with angels. The older Winchester nodded and Sam continued, “They were, umm… normal, I guess? I mean, as normal as angels get, anyway. I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re asking about. An angel touched us and took us to the past and then we got back the same way. No crying in the meantime.”  
“They don’t really cry…”  
“He means actual angels, Doctor,” interrupted Sherlock quickly, attempting to keep the conversation as reasonable as possible under these circumstances. Which, considering that he was standing in the middle of a spaceship that could also travel in time, with an over a thousand year old alien, two supernatural hunters and a currently very pissed of army doctor, were not the best conditions to try to cling to reason. He sighed, deciding not to give up too easily, “The kind that lives in heaven. Not the psychopaths.”  
“Wouldn't be so sure about the psychopath part…”  
“Oh, God…” hearing Dean add some chaos to the already messy situation seemed to be enough for John. He looked around and hid his face in his hands. “I need a drink…”  
“I need my car. And a drink.”  
The Doctor ran up to the console and pulled one of the levers.  
“Where to?”


	6. Chapter 6

In retrospect, the Winchesters had to admit that getting to Bobby's unannounced and in an alien spaceship wasn't the best of ideas. Bobby Singer was called many things by other hunters, the mildest of which was a crazy, paranoid, drunk old bastard, but he was not stupid. And he much preferred to be paranoid than dead.

That's why, when he heard a strange, wheezing noise coming from the car-filled yard, he didn't waste any time trying to find his shotgun, or any other equipment that could help him fight off the invaders. And when he saw someone getting out of a blue box that suddenly appeared near his house, he started shooting.

Luckily, the first three people coming out of the TARDIS were Dean, John and Sam, so when the first shot rang, they were already taking cover behind two disassembled cars. Watson took a moment to silently bless some of Sherlock's ideas that, although they were on of the most idiotic things that John ever saw, allowed him to retain his reflexes. Sam, on the other hand, was happy they didn't let the Doctor get out first, because the alien, unaccustomed to their working conditions, would probably get shot.

Bobby sent a couple more bullets in their direction, causing Dean and John, who were hidden behind an old pickup track, to lower their heads instinctively. When Dean heard the old man reloading the shotgun, he raised his hands above the hood to show the shooting man he was unarmed.

"Dammit, Bobby, it's us!"

"Us who?" asked the older man, although he was almost sure that what he heard was Dean's voice.

"Sam and Dean!" came an answer from behind the car.

"Sam and Dean my ass…" muttered Bobby, "And who is the third one?"

"It's the English dude! Sam told you about them when you called about the case, remember?"

"Okay, get out of there," all three of the hiding man let out sighs of relief and left their covers, "Why the hell did you boys drag this box with you all the way from Texas?"

John, Sam and Dead turned around, surprised, and saw the outside of the TARDIS for the first time. Dean swore under his breath, taking a step towards the blue police box. The door opened and Sherlock and the Doctor carefully stepped out of the ship. Sam raised his hand to let Bobby know that there was no need to shoot the extra two either.

John, too, approached the box and together with Dean they opened the door and looked inside. John entered the TARDIS, looking around in surprise and the older Winchester circled the ship, tapping the walls. He got to the entrance and peered inside again, almost bumping into Sam, who also decided to check if the small blue box, in which he was pretty sure he wouldn't fit, was really the space and time traveling ship. It was.

The brothers and John turned back to face the Doctor, who looked like almost nothing in the world could make him happier, with identical stunned looks on their faces.

"It's…" John had no idea how to finish that sentence and looked at the Winchesters for help.

"Come on, say it!" the Doctor was almost vibrating with anticipation.

"It's… bigger on the inside…"

"Yes! Thank you!"

"It's really not," remarked Sherlock, "It's just dimensionally transcendental."

"Oh, don't spoil the fun!"

"It's great that you're all happy, but can someone explain to me what the hell is going on?" Bobby interrupted the exchange. Sam opened his mouth, looked around, trying to decide where to begin and closed it. He cast a quick glance at his brother and when Dean just shrugged, he tried again.

"I think you should see for yourself."

The oldest hunter looked irritated, but approached the blue box and looked inside. He made a surprised sound, adjusted the cap on his head and circled the box, tapping the walls like Dean did, opened the door again and startled everyone present with his comment.

"So it is real…"

"What?" exclaimed Dean and the Doctor.

"You knew about this?" demanded Sam at the same time.

"Would I say that if I didn't? Are we gonna stand here until we all grow roots or can we go inside?"

Before anyone had a chance to ask any more questions, Bobby started to walk back towards the house, his shotgun ready to be put back to its place beside the door. With a shrug, Sam gesture for everyone to follow, impatient to find out what, and how, exactly Bobby knew about the Doctor.

After the introductions were complete, Dean, remembering John's words offered drinks to him, Sam and Bobby. John downed the first glass in one large gulp and the elder Winchester, refilled it with a sympathetic nod. When he looked at Sherlock and the Doctor, he found them already completely invested in browsing the stacks of Bobby's books. With ghosts and demons suddenly entering his life, Sherlock was determined to gather as much knowledge about the supernatural as he possibly could and the oldest hunter's library was definitely the best place to do it.

'Hey, geeks!', called Dean, 'Calm down, the books aren't going anywhere. And right now I'd like to know exactly what is going on, 'cause it looks like everybody except the three of us knows everything.'

John made a sound indicating that he sympathized with Dean's frustration. Sam, knowing that his brother's frustration could very quickly transform into anger, decided to start asking questions in the hope of averting an argument.

'Okay, Bobby, how did you know about the TARDIS?'

'You boys remember that vengeful spirit thing I told you about? The one when the feds almost had my ass?' when the Winchesters nodded, he continued, 'Well, I'll better repeat it anyway for you three.'

Back when Bobby was still actively hunting, he was on a vengeful spirit case. The ghost has already killed four people, so unfortunately the FBI was on that case, too,. As they had no way of knowing what was actually going on, the agents decided to pin the killings on Bobby, who was arrested while he was digging up a grave in the local cemetery.

He realized that his only chance was to tell the truth and hope that they would either believe him or think he was crazy, yes, but not a murderer, when the most unexpected thing happened. The older one of the agents asked his partner to go get some coffee and demanded all the details from Bobby. And, although it seemed like the last thing that could ever happen, Canton Delaware not only believed the story about the vengeful spirit but also managed to convince his partner that Bobby was just a harmless lunatic who was trying to help in his own way and they should let him go.

They met a few hours later in a small bar not far from the cemetery, Bobby still smelling of smoke a bit, and Canton told him his own improbable story about a time traveling alien in a blue box. The hunter didn't really believe the agent but he was trying not to show it in front of the man who just saved his life. They talked for a while and after they left the town they never saw each other again.

And years later it turned out that the story of the alien in a box was real.

'Now it's your turn. What did you idjits get yourself into this time?'

'I'm afraid it was my fault,' John answered the question, 'we had a problem with a demon and we… I thought Sam and Dean might be able to help. And the Doctor just showed up by accident.'

'The TARDIS has a mind of her own sometimes,' the Doctor offered as an explanation.

'Only it turned out that the son of a bitch was smarter than we expected. Shut up.' the last words were directed at Sherlock, who looked like he wanted to add something and Dean really wasn't in the mood to listen to him.

The detective ignored him and decided to join the conversation anyway, which caused John to mumble 'Oh for God's sake not again' under his breath.

'It turned out that there are things preventing demons from being exorcised and Moriarty knows about this, too. It's a pity we didn't.'

Just as Dean was about to tell Sherlock that maybe he could have mentioned certain things earlier in the process of ridding him of Moriarty, and Sam, already knowing that whatever his brother was about to say would lead to another argument, started to explain things, the Doctor interrupted everyone.

'John, explain everything from the beginning.'

So John did, starting from the day when Sherlock jumped from the roof of St. Bart's. Things got a little confusing when he got to the part involving Sherlock and the Doctor knowing (or not knowing) each other at various points in time and when he finished, Bobby stared at his desk for a moment before he started talking.

'So you,' he asked the alien 'saved his life when he was falling because he told you that you did… after you did that. But you didn't know him when he told you?'

'It happens sometimes' the Doctor nodded, 'I had a good explanation for his once. You see, from a non-linear…'

'Don't,' Dean interrupted, 'Not now, I feel a headache of a millennium coming. Besides, we gotta figure out what to do with this fucking psychopath. And get my baby back.'

The Doctor just smiled, partly because he finally met a man who could understand his relationship with the TARDIS, and lead Dean to the window. Partly hidden behind the TARDIS stood the Impala, looking exactly like she did when Dean parked her a few blocks away from the witch's house.

'Bigger on the inside, remember?'

The next day saw the six men gathered in Bobby's kitchen, discussing a new plan over their steaming cups of coffee.

'You just gotta stab him!' Bobby insisted, 'It's better that exorcising, even if you could manage to destroy the seal.'

'And how exactly are we supposed to do that?' inquired Sherlock.

'From the TARDIS, you idjit.' the detective, unaccustomed to anyone but John calling him an idiot fell silent for a second. John chuckled quietly, seeing his friend's confusion. It was something he didn't get to see very often, so he relished every occasion. 'It can turn invisible. Park the thing inside the trap, summon Moriarty and stab him. Seems pretty…'

'No, don't!' Sam and John shouted in unison.

'…easy to me,' Bobby finished the sentence with a look of surprise on his face.

Sherlock sighed heavily and Dean groaned and rested his head on the table.

'We're so fucked.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Every time someone says something's gonna be easy,' mumbled Dean, his head still on the table, 'things go South faster than you could possibly imagine.'

Bobby just rolled his eyes and urged the younger men and the Doctor to hurry up and get on their way.

Hoping that maybe this time everything was going to go according to plan, they all grabbed their things and walk out of the house, Dean feeling a little uneasy now that he knew that the TARDIS was flying. Bobby locked the ship door behind them and tapped the wall with his hand, signaling that thay were good to go. Seconds later he heard a wheezing noise and the blue box disappeared from his yard.

When it landed, John went out the door first, after they repeated the plan. He took a step and immediately turned backed with a frown.

'Is this the place? It looks…' with a wave of his hand the invited the others to see what was outside for themselves.

What they saw wasn't the place where they wanted to land. A few dilapidated stone buildings stuck out of the fog that had shades of purple in it. The sky was dark and clouded and they could see no people no animals around.

'Yeah, wrong address.' Dean closed the door and turned to the Doctor, 'Let's get out of here.'

The Doctor was already pulling levers and pushing buttons but nothing happened. He looked at the man standing next to him.

'She won't move.'


	7. Chapter 7

‘What do you mean, won’t move?’  
‘She just won’t. She does that sometimes. I told you, she’s got a mind of her own. I think she just wants us to explore.’  
‘Explore?’ Sam clearly didn’t like the idea of spending time in the world outside the ship, ‘Doctor, we don’t have time to…’  
‘Time’s not a problem. Come on, let’s go! No point standing here when there’s an exciting new world outside. Just remember, don’t shoot before you talk. Actually, don’t shoot at all.’  
The Doctor stepped out into the fog, looking around curiously and trying to decide where they should go first. There wasn’t much to be seen besides the shapes of the ruins surrounding the TARDIS. He waved his sonic screw driver and read something on it. He looked back at the men still standing inside, inviting them to join him.  
‘Come on, this way.’  
‘Is he always like that?’ as Sherlock was the only one who actually knew the Doctor, Dean directed his question at him.  
‘Most of the time, yes.’  
‘Well this is gonna be fun,’ the hunter made sure if his gun was loaded and grabbed a flashlight from his bag, ‘Let’s go, before he gets himself killed and we get stuck in this place.’

They followed the Doctor outside. As the men walked, more things started to emerge from the thick fog. They landed in a place that looked like an abandoned town, the stone houses built around a square with a well in the middle of it.  
Sam looked into the well while John snapped a twig from a leafless tree growing in the nearest garden. Everything was completely dry.  
‘No wonder everyone moved out,’ Dean peered into one of the houses through an empty window frame.  
‘But why in such a hurry?’ Sherlock, standing next to him, pointed at the bowl of now-dried fruits standing on a dark wooden table and coats still hanging n the chairs, ‘They didn’t take anything, they just ran. Why? This sort of change doesn’t happen overnight.’  
‘We could ask, except there’s no one here.’  
‘Yes, there is,’ the Doctor said without taking his eyes off his screw driver. He pointed somewhere ahead of them, at a place still hidden behind the purple fumes, ‘There. There are people on this planet.’  
Since apparently there was no way of going back until they did what the TARDIS wanted, everyone followed the Doctor again, carefully looking around.

The men walked in silence for what felt like days, but was actually no more than an hour. After they left the derelict town, they decided to follow the only road there was, leading into the empty landscape. As they walked, the fog began to disperse slightly, revealing vast fields of gray grass.   
What little light was provided by the moon and stars started to disappear as the clouds grew darker, announcing an approaching storm. Sam and Dean took out their flashlights and pointed them at the road. The Doctor was checking his screw driver from time to time to see if they were going the right way. He was feeling a bit uncomfortable in the silence and just as he was finally about to say something, Sherlock left the group and turned right into the field, lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He got pretty far from the others when Dean pointed the light in his direction and suddenly started running.  
He grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his coat and yanked him back before the detective could take another step. Before the two men was a wide scar in the ground, so deep that in the dark they couldn’t see the bottom. It clearly wasn’t anything man-made. The ragged edges looked like someone just grabbed the ground and tried to tear it like a piece of paper.  
‘That was close,’ Dean said, carefully looking down and catching his breath as Sherlock regained his balance and concentration.  
‘I thought…’ he glanced at the horizon again, shook his head and looked at Dean, ‘Thank you.’  
‘Don’t mention it.’  
When they got back to the group, Sam was looking around frantically, searching for something.  
‘It was right there! You had to see it!’  
‘Sam,’ John was trying to calm down the younger man, ‘There was nothing there. The Doctor says there are no people near.’  
‘Did you guys notice…’ the hunter asked his brother and Sherlock, oblivious to the fact that they weren’t with him a moment ago, ‘I thought I saw lights over there.’  
‘Orange lights?’ Sherlock asked and John and the Doctor stared at him in surprise, ‘Like someone carried a torch?’  
Sam nodded, still trying to see something in the distance. The others looked around, even more uneasy than before.  
‘That’s what I saw, at the other side of the gorge. I almost fell down.’  
‘Everybody stay close,’ the Doctor ordered, ‘If you see anything, don’t go and take a look. Except right now. Right now we’re going to take a look at that gorge.’  
‘Why?’ John asked, ‘What are those lights?’  
‘Haven’t the faintest.’  
They reached the scar as they talked. John crouched to take a closer look, the Doctor right next to him. The edges were jagged at the surface but smooth as they went straight down, with no pieces of rock sticking out of the walls. It looked like someone polished the walls after chopping them off. The gorge was about two miles wide in the middle but the walls were narrowing as they went farther from what appeared to be the center of whatever happened there.  
‘What could have done this?’ John wondered aloud, ‘An earthquake?’  
‘It looks a bit too clean for an earthquake,’ the Doctor answered, scanning the ground with his screw driver, ‘And there would be signs of an earthquake this big in the town, too, not just here. Whatever happened wasn’t natural.’  
‘Well then,’ the soldier straightened up, ‘I guess we’d better ask whoever’s left in this place.’  
A thunder rolled in the distance. It seemed that the weather agreed with John, so they were again on their way to find the inhabitants of the planet, the Doctor and Sam at the front, with Dean, John and Sherlock closely behind. Everyone was apprehensive and even the Doctor seemed to lose his usual cheer and was instead very focused on their surroundings.  
Dean stopped abruptly and pointed his gun and flashlight at something the others couldn’t see. He stared for a moment but started walking again, his every instinct screaming to find and kill whatever it was that tried to lure them away from the road.  
‘Lights again?’  
‘To the left this time,’ Dean nodded and suddenly remember something, ‘Hey Sam! You think there’s a chance that this was a swamp before?’  
‘Are you thinking wisp? Dean, we’re not even on our own planet…’  
‘You got any better ideas? Or any ideas at all, for that matter?’  
‘Sorry, what?’ John interrupted, ‘Wisp?’  
‘Will-o’-the-wisp,’ Sam explained, waving his hand, ‘Back home there is lots of lore about this thing. Strange lights that recede when people get closer, trying to lure them into the swamps. There are many different legends explaining what’s doing it, ghosts of people who drowned in the marshes, some lesser demons, fairies… We’re not even sure what it could be on Earth, and here…’  
‘Whatever it is,’ Sherlock remarked, ‘It’s trying to take us out one by one, make us leave the group one person at a time.’  
‘Right. Stay close, keep your eyes open and whatever you do,’ the Doctor pointed a finger at his companions, ‘don’t’. Wander. Off.’  
The fog started to thicken again and it was getting harder and harder to see anything more than a few feet away. The five men walked very close to each other, not wanting to be separated by the conditions, their arms touching from time to time. Every once in a while one of them would flinch and turn their heard abruptly, seeing the orange lights inviting them to change their path. Some were like candles, small and flickering in the distance but as they moved along, some looked more like fires burning just a few steps away, offering warmth and comfort in the worsening weather.  
After a while, a huge building suddenly appeared in front of them. The contrast with the village they saw earlier was striking. While houses there looked primitive, made of stone blocks and with glassless windows, the concrete construction on the hill before them was more like a military base, surrounded with barbed wire fence. At first glance it looked empty, but the Doctor confirmed that there were people inside. Whether or not they were friendly he couldn’t tell but, as Sherlock said, they would find out soon enough.  
The men approached the fence, looking for a way in, when they heard the all too familiar sound of a gun being unlocked behind them. Dean swore under his breath.  
‘Turn around. Slowly,’ came a high-pitched voice, ‘Hands in the air.’  
They did as they were told and came face to face with a small patrol. Each holding a machine gun, the soldiers all looked the same, with dark gray hair and eyes that matched the color of the grass in the surrounding fields. Short, shorter than John, they seemed intimidated by the strangers towering over them, so most of the guns were pointed at Sam, who they thought could be the biggest danger.  
Dean noticed this and instantly took a step towards them, shielding his brother. If they tried to hurt Sam, they would live to find out exactly what danger was but the elder Winchester doubted that they would live for very long.  
Startled by his sudden movement, the soldiers gripped their weapons tighter. The one who looked the youngest was clearly frightened and could hardly keep his hands from shaking and John knew that things could turn very bad very quickly. A scared kid with a gun was never a good idea and putting him in front of an angry hunter was begging for trouble.  
‘It’s okay,’ the Doctor tried to avert the mess that could break out any moment, ‘we’re not dangerous.’  
Which was probably the biggest lie ever heard on the surface of this planet. And, come to think of it, probably on the planets in most solar systems. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the Doctor. Dean Winchester alone would probably find a way to tear this world apart if anyone hurt his brother and adding The Oncoming Storm to the equation didn’t make things any better.  
‘We’re not here to hurt you,’ the Doctor added, but Dean’s face made it clear that it was still a possibility, ‘so why don’t you put the guns down and we can just talk, eh? A nice chat, no shooting, nobody getting hurt, how does that sound?’  
‘What are you doing here?’  
‘Just dropped by. An accident, really. We took the wrong turn and ended up here, you know what it’s like. Lovely planet. We wouldn’t bother you, but our ship broke.’  
The Doctor’s tone seemed to calm down the soldiers. With a short nod, the man in charge ordered his men to lower their weapons.  
‘You must follow us. We will take you to the elders.’  
The scared boy blew a short horn and the gate opened. Surrounded by the patrol, the Winchesters, Sherlock, John and the Doctor let the officer lead them inside the building. They were looking around surprised by the strange mixture of items they saw. There were animal skins hanging on the concrete walls and some corridors were filled with strange figures and skeletons that, by the look of them, belonged to some strange part-human, part-animal hybrids.   
Although all the soldiers were wearing normal-looking uniforms, the rest of the inhabitants of the base were dressed in leather and skins and the women wore long skirts with colorful patches of cloth stitched to them. The children that were curiously eyeing the strangers from behind their mothers all had blue ribbons tied around their wrists.  
Every person the travelers passed on their way through the base was barely distinguishable from the others. Just like the soldiers who stopped them outside they were very short, pale and gray haired. The only distinction between them appeared to be their clothes. Those men who wore cloaks with fur collars seemed to be of the higher status than the rest and everyone cleared of their path as they moved in the same direction as the soldiers were leading the five men.  
Finally they entered a large room with a huge fire burning in the middle of it, hiding the corners in the shadows, so they couldn’t see if there was another entrance. On a bearskin before the fire sat six men, probably the elders, including the four in the fur cloaks they saw on their way. The other two were dressed the same way. There was a small wooden table in front of them and on sat six empty goblets and a silver knife with a blue stone in its handle.  
Two guards moved to the far side of the room, revealing that there was another way out. The Doctor’s companions scanned the room carefully, trying to take in every detail that could help them work out a plan in case things didn’t go well, and judging by the way everything else work out for them so far, it wasn’t incredibly unlikely. Three of the small men remained behind them, while two positioned themselves by the door they came through. The shadows from the fire were dancing on the walls and the smoke went up to a small hole in the ceiling.  
‘Hello,’ the Doctor greeted the elders cheerfully, ‘I’m the Doctor and these are my friends.’  
‘Why did you come here?’   
‘Oh, it was an accident. We weren’t really trying to pay you a visit, it just…’  
‘What is your purpose here?’  
‘We have no purpose, our ship just bro…’  
‘Why are you in our home?’ the third question came with more insistence and a hint of anger.  
‘Listen, pal,’ Dean’s patience was wearing thin, ‘we’re in your _home_ because your guards brought us here at gunpoint, okay? So maybe instead of asking stupid questions you could just show us the exit and we’ll be on our way.’  
The small men were stunned by Dean’s insolence. A gasp came from behind them, indicating that in the dark they missed the fact that someone else was in the room. The soldiers stirred uncomfortably and the Doctor shot Dean a warning look.  
‘You shouldn’t have come. No strangers ever come here. You will anger the gods.’  
It was like they were having two different conversations. Dean, or any of his friends for that matter, couldn’t understand what was wrong with coming to this weird grim planet but the older Winchester suddenly felt better. He and Sam were on familiar ground again. Maybe they didn’t have much experience when it came to the alien stuff, but at least they knew how to deal with gods, even if the Doctor wouldn’t be too happy about their methods.  
‘Yeah, well, I never saw a do-not-enter sign on this planet. If those gods of yours have a problem with that, maybe we should talk to them.’  
One of the elders waved his hand furiously and the soldiers surrounded the five men again. Sam, Dean and John looked like they were ready to fight but then a girl came from the shadows and the Doctor froze, preventing them from doing anything stupid. The woman was very different from the rest of the people in the base. Although short, she was still slightly taller than the rest of the people they saw. Her hair wasn’t grey but brown, reaching her shoulders. For a second, the Doctor looked like he wanted to talk to her, but then one of the soldiers poked his back with a gun, making him move.  
The girl lead the party to one of the exits and down a few flights of stairs to the basement, where two men guarded heavy iron doors. Doors that were clearly there for the purpose of keeping something from getting out.  
The five men were pushed into the room and the doors locked behind them.  
They were in complete darkness.


End file.
